A/N: Whoooo, second chapter. I have a few ideas, and yes, there will be a love triangle, I'm sorry, but Ander's is too awesome for me to ignore. Plus, Alistair deserves a little punishment after what he said to me in the Landsmeet. :*(
~*CN
Zevran had been expecting the swing of the meaty fist towards his face, so he quickly ducked down, snaking a foot out against Alistair's calf, knocking the big man onto his face. Jumping up, the elf straddled the man's shoulders, placing a blade against the back of his neck, sighing softly, making soft tsk tsk noises with his tongue. "Alistair, you needn't attack me."
"You lying, sneaky fucking elf!" The man spat, slurring and trying to roll onto his stomach, and failing. Zevran dug his heels into the man's sides.
"Now, that may be true, but it does not mean it is polite. Be still my dear Warden," Alistair stilled under him, and he relaxed slightly. "You should rest tonight, and we shall continue our conversation when you are sober."
Alistair swung for the elf again, but he had danced his way out the window. Grumbling, the man reached for the bottle he'd been drowning his ever present sorrow in, to find it gone. "Fucking elf!"
The next morning came too soon, the pain that accompanied his nausea made him want to throw himself from the cliffs in Highever—the thought of Highever made memories swim back into Alistair's mind.
Her back was too him as she stood before her old home. Half crumbled in on itself, her cloak red as blood whipping about her body. Her gloved fingers graced the wooden door before her. The castle was empty of all humans, but the rumours of Darkspawn had brought them here.
"Stay—"
"No, we won't stay here, Emily." He remembered how to smile for her as she tilted herself back to seek his face. Drawing comfort from the golden eyes meeting her own white-blue ones. Swirling with the memory of this place. He stepped up to her, placing a hand on her small shoulder, fingers curling around her gently. "I promised you that I would be with you, always. I will cherish that promise."
Her smile flickered for a moment, before she waved a hand to their companions to catch up. Alistair, Sten, Shale and herself pressed their bodies against the wooden doors, frozen shut from the harsh winter. Finally, the ice shattered under the pressure, falling down to gather at their feet as they pushed their way in. The door groaning under the strain. An arrow was notched behind them as the doors finished, Leliana using her acute eyes to scout ahead for them.
Pushing into Highever with Emily at their front, hunched low behind her shield, Alistair couldn't help but feel that familiar tightness of arousal as he absorbed the look of her rear. Shaking back the feeling, they pushed in, before she collapsed to her knees, clutching a frozen corpse to her plated chest. A broken gasp collectively left them. They stood in the main courtyard; a frozen reminder of what Highever had looked the night of the attack, months ago, at the brink of winter.
Emily clutched the body, shaking it, whispering something unintelligible. His fingers touched her arm, causing her to jolt up to look at him, her eyes rimmed red with withheld tears. "Ser G-Gilmore…" She informed him, before clinging to the body once more. "My teacher, my friend… he loved me you know? And I left him to die. I should have made him come…" Wynne was there then, extracting Emily from the body. Zevran seemingly appearing from thin air.
"There are no Darkspawn here, no remnants of them either…"
Leliana piped in, her soft and gentle voice caressing over their skin like a song, "We shall burn the dead, it is what you do here in Ferelden, yes? We are here as it is, we should spend the time here properly."
"For once, I agree with the Bard," Morrigan added, scowling from behind the group, though her eyes were softer than he'd ever seen. She stared hard into the back of Emily, as she slowly rose to her feet.
Fighting down the urge to take her into his arms and comfort her, Alistair could only watch as their leader nodded and began to collect the dead.
Groaning, the very hung over warrior rolled to his stomach, he was still on the floor, covered in a blanket that looked as if it was half-heartedly pulled from his bed. The stone below him had left his backside numb. Leaning against a bedpost stood Zevran, the cheeky elf keeping a level gaze with him. "You awaken finally."
"And here I thought it was all a nightmare."
Zevran scoffed, grasping Alistair by the scruff of his tunic, pulling him roughly to his feet. "No, the fact that your former lover, my friend—the Hero of your homeland is on her death bed is no joke, nor dream." Those words stung him, like a dagger into his ribcage.
"What do you expect me to do?"
The elf deposited clean clothing, a towel and a bar of soap into Alistair's arms and turned his back. "Clean and get dressed, you smell as bad as Oghren's backside on a good day, and look just as bad. Then, I will speak."
The bastard prince was getting sick and tired of the postponing of information, but hurried over to the bath that Zevran must've set up during the morning while he slept, thinking of better times, running around Ferelden saving the world and being the lover to the most amazing woman in the world.
Alistair gave himself a healthy cleaning before returning to where Zevran sat, slightly fidgety. His thicker brows shot up, the once rough stubble on his face was nearly a full grown beard, one that Oghren himself would have been proud of. "Speak, assassin."
Zevran sighed, placing something wrapped in a thick cloak on the unkempt bed. "Emily is dying, she may be dead for all we know, now." Alistair's eyes narrowed, "When she… fell ill… Emily had been starting a mission to find you, actually. It was a secret mission only within Vigil's Keep, she had wished to convince you to come back, as she'd convinced Anora to drop the charges on your head. For some odd reason, she was called to a Landsmeet in Denerim, while there, she fell ill. At first, it was a fever, but it escalated. She fell into a state that reminded Wynne of Arl Eamon's state during the Blight." The warrior stayed silent, and for that the Antivan thanked this Maker person.
Alistair's face fell, Emily had used the blood of the Dragon to defile the Ashes to gain powers. They could not save her now, though, after he'd learned what she had gained because of it, he forgave her, and they made a pact never to speak of it to Leliana.
The memories of her burned, mostly knowing she was dying, dying because of him. The anger he felt for her was still there, she betrayed him. "And why should I care?" His voice was much harsher than he'd thought it'd be.
The former Crow seemed to notice it, and seemed taken aback. "The Grey Warden's need their own Commander. You are the only truly Ferelden Grey Warden left, you must come back."
Rubbing his temples with a large hand, Alistair begged his headache to go away, he needed a clear head to think, though, this clear head would be the first in many months. "Why me?" His voice had dropped, cracking slightly.
Zevran paused slightly, he was treading on thin ice, "Queen Anora had made note she wished you to take Emily's place, were you to return."
His gut's twisted, and his face contorted. "I will go back, for Ferelden though. Both the daughter and the savoir of that slimy bastard can rot."
Don't fool yourself, Alistair. A voice, his voice, muttered in his head. This voice had been suppressed since the Landsmeet. You want her back, you want her to beg for you forgiveness, that's why you return. Battling with himself, Alistair took the package wrapped in the cloak and revealed it. Zevran was studying his expression as a magically preserved rose lain across a leather bound book with her name scrawled upon it was revealed to him.
No. Not in the least…